


Nostos

by LordGrimwing



Series: Neos Mnestis [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cybertron, F/M, Post-War, Reconstruction, rebuilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordGrimwing/pseuds/LordGrimwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life must continue after the last Prime's sacrifice; the surviving Autobots labor to bring the war torn people back home, while Cybertron barely clings to the life Optimus restored to it. Of course, it's not all work, there's time for greeting long-lost friends and maybe even finding new.<br/>This is Lieutenant Arcee's tell, and maybe--just maybe--she'll get a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ardu Arco

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on AO3 so please give me feed back on what you like or dislike. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. 
> 
> Up dates should be every Saturday. 
> 
> If you think I should change the rating or tags, please let me know!

Cybertron, post-war, wasn’t the most beautiful planet in the galaxy—though the ever-so-slowly returning populace claimed it was better than most places they had sought refuge at—every city was in disrepair, most to the point where it was too dangerous to try and live in, and although the last Prime had given his life to reignite the planet’s core, it was still a long, slow, healing process. 

Why would anyone want to return here? 

Arcee hadn’t a clue as to the answer as she helped to unload a small cargo vessel, which had just arrived from the Milky Way galaxy with Ironhide and Chromia onboard. The older Autobots had been taken to the med bay for a decontamination and health check by their resident turncoat, leaving Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and herself to unload the ship (Bulkhead was supervising the remaining Vehicons and Eradicons in the reconstruction of the city Iacon, Arcee’s home city, Wheeljack was helping roundup the few living Wreckers and anyone else he could contact, Ratchet was still on Earth, and of course Ultra Magnus was busy restoring a form of the chain of command in the slowly growing populous) though honestly there wasn’t much to unload from the cargo vessel: A few cubes of poorly refined energon, and little else; actually there was also a whole lot of scrap metal, most of it pink of all colors—good thing they had brought carrying crates that had sub-spacing storage too.

As soon as the ship was emptied, and cleaned a little as is was full of grit from whatever rock the two had been calling home, Smokescreen took it to the almost-repaired shuttle bay, leaving Arcee and Bumblebee to take their fellow Autobots’ belongings to their assigned living space. The trip would not have been long in vehicle mode, but the team still had their Earth alt forms—which didn’t mix so well with Cybertron’s metallic ground—so she and the young warrior had to carry the four crates of personal belongings all the way to the housing district. Actually, Bulkhead had been able to find some old schematics he was compatible with in one of the building he was reconstructing, would have been nice to have him around right about then.

Arcee’s shoulder struts burned by the time they set the meddle crates down in the main room of the small apartment. Although she was a warrior, Arcee was not a very strong model; sure, she could do sudden bursts of strength, and she was rather agile, but anything that required an extended effort wore her frame down quickly--one of the many faults she found with her form. While she was on the topic of fault finding, Arcee also disliked how small she was. She never felt that this was a problem before the war, but once she started to spend most of her time with military units she became self-conscious of the fact, and after confronting Megatron for the first time she was unnerved by the thought that the leader of the Decepticons could snap her in two with his bare hands—if he could catcher her of course. 

“Are you okay, ‘cee?” Bumblebee inquired, bringing her back from her thoughts.  
“Um, yah.” Arcee was a little shocked to realize that she had been staring blankly at the gray wall of the room for nearly a minute. Rubbing the back of her helm, she turned to leave—Bumblebee following her. “Guess I was just thinking about life.” 

“Yeah, I do that alot too.” The young Praxian murmured.

They remained quiet for the remainder of the trek back to the mostly-empty ship dock; then Arcee got a ping on her long distance comm line. “Lieutenant Arcee here.” The black and yellow warrior looked back at her.

“Lieutenant Arcee, this is Lieutenant Prowl.” Arcee’s mouth fell open at this: Lieutenant Prowl was alive! He had been presumed dead after the destruction of moon base three—one of the last battles fought on Cybertronian held ground—along with most of the Wreckers. Did that mean… Could it be that Spri—NO! She couldn’t think about that. 

“Lieutenant Arcee,” Prowl stated, his voice flat, emotionless, and just as familier as ever. “I, along with Special Operations leader Jazz, courier Blurr, and Wreckers Drift and Perceptor, will be arriving at Cybertron with in the Joor.” It had been awhile since she had heard the interstellar time measurement and it took Arcee a moment to convert it to the Earth time which she was accustomed to. Prowl would be arriving in a bit under three Earth days. 

“Glad to hear you will be returning soon Lieutenant. Will your group be needing any specific medical aid?” Arcee knew she had to follow protocol with Prowl, despite the sudden urge to ask about the status of a curtain Wrecker who had been stationed on moonbase three, or even just about his health and that of Jazz.

“No. That is all.” With that Prowl ended the transmission. 

“Was that Lieutenant Warpath?” Bumblebee asked, referring to her only fellow lieutenant thought to have survived the vicious fighting before both factions abandoned the planet, as her attention came back to the world around her.

“Prowl.” The young warrior looked shocked, mouth falling open. “He’ll be here in three days.”  
That night as Arcee walked back to her small room she wondered if perhaps there was some small hope that a large, yellow and green Wrecker had survived the war. Should she try to contact him? NO, Arcee decided: it would too spark-breaking to try only to realize he had become one with the Allspark. 

 

The three days passed slowly for Arcee: she was impatient to see her fellow lieutenant—and some-what friend—Prowl. It would also be refreshing to have Jazz’s upbeat attitude around again, she had missed his jokes and clean humor—the majority of soldier mechs tended to be a little crude.  
The tedium of reconstruction was interrupted the evening of the second day when Jack and Miko—now 33 and 30 respectively—came by Space Bridge to pay a visit to their Cybertronian friends. Arcee was glad to hear that Jack and his wife Diana would soon be having their third child, a true blessing indeed, which was why she hadn’t accompanied him on the trip. Miko was doing well: she had moved back to America for college and lived in the same apartment building as Raff—who hadn’t been able to come to the little reunion because he had ‘like three million midterms,’ to use Miko’s words.  
Jack had been happy to follow Arcee around the city—the stuffy spacesuits were now replaced with flexible bodysuits—and help put the finishing touches on rebuilt circuitry, to help lessen the strain on the healing planet. Miko was ‘totally hyped’—her words—that she got to spend all day working with Bulkhead to rebuild the basic road system in Iacon and Praxis. 

After a while of working in amicable silence Jack turned to Arcee and asked “What’s been on your mind lately ‘cee?” 

The Femme was surprised by her companion inquiry: she thought she had been doing a fairly good job at keeping her angst over the arrival of Prowl and comply, and over a green and yellow mech—who she hadn’t seen since moonbase three—well covered under a skin of calm; apparently Jack was still as good as ever when it came to reading her.

“Sorry for being a bit distracted,” after all, she did want to spend quality time with her little friend, “I’m just a little nervous about a shuttle that will be landing tomorrow.”

“More of you are coming back?!” Jack asked; the excitement plain on his face: maybe he could have a chance to meet them. He had yet to see any Cybertronians—other than team prime—since his arrival; the majority of them had little to no experience with such tiny organics, they chose to steer clear of the humans and just try to return life to normal. 

“Yes Jack.” Sometimes she still saw the K.O. Burger worker, who dreamed of owning a motorcycle, in her human friend. “Though I thought Smokescreen would have told you by now.”

“He’s been busy. Will I be able to meet them Arcee—Commander Magnus permitting of course?” 

“Certainly Jack. And he gave permission for it almost the moment Bulkhead and Miko asked this morning.”

“Sweet!”


	2. Asper Hum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and co. finally arrive! Yea : )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Arcee stood with the rest of team prime—excluding Wheeljack and Knockout—and Miko and Jack, nervously watching as the shuttle came to a halting landing. She could see that the little ship had gone through a lot of scrap: all of the finish plating on the exterior had been torn off, many hastily done welds on the exposed armor, and on reentry one of the three engines died. The rattletrap of a ship skidded to a stop, Jack and Miko covered their ears in a futile attempt to block out the grinding screech, the fact that it stayed on the landing strip was a testament to the pilot's skills. Arcee guessed that Jazz was the one behind the controls, he was an excellent flier from was she had seen and heard. 

Team prime stood in almost complete silence for a moment as they waited for Prowl and his group to emerge. After a moment there was a loud banging from the inside of the shuttle and the door—which seemed to have melted shut—was forced open. Out stepped a tall, brawny mech who at one time had been a striking red but was now mostly just a grey gray, the cannon mounted on his shoulder and the triangular glass panle on his chest plate gave a hint toward his alt mode. Behind him came a once blue mech, considerably thinner and smaller than the first, his large optics gave him the appearance of a sparkling, angular helm giving him a slightly rapter appearance; Arcee recognized him as the messenger Blurr, though she had never actually met him.

She instantly recognized Lieutenant Prowl when he emerged. Tall and lean, the slight movements of the handsome Praxian’s door wings just as enthralling as when she had first met him in Icon, before the city had fallen to the Decepticons. Arcee felt a little guilty for the way she was thinking about her old crush when he could still be alive somewhere in the universe. But those little wings were no longer help high and proud, now they sagged with fatigue; though, when his optics alighted upon Commander Magnus Arcee could tell that he made a genuine effort to raise them to attention. Ultra Magnus waved the attempt away, even he understood that protocol could be put aside at times.

“Prowl!” It was so hard to talk formally when she was around him. “I thought you said medical assistance was unneeded!” This was exclaimed by Arcee when she saw that another mech was draped over his shoulder.

Jazz looked up from his spot on Prowl’s side at the sudden shout and Arcee could clearly see he lacked the optical visor he’d be using to see since long before she met him. He claimed to have been blinded as a youngling though Arcee had a feeling the Polyhexalon was lying. Glowing white optics swept around the flat area as the Polyhexalon tried to pin-point where the sound had come from, Jazz then put his helm right next to Prowl’s and in a faux whisper drawled, “Prowler, ya didn’t tell meh tat hah femme was gonnah beh here. Yah li’l trickster.” He lightly stroked Prowl’s cheek plate.

Arcee was shocked by Jazz’s appearance: not only was his visor gone so were the knife-like horns on the sides of his silver helm, and his dagger shaped fingers were not much more than filed down digits; his black paint looked to have been scratched off, leaving the mech mainly silver and gray; his frame was covered in old and new welds, all small but the majority of them were in joints, which would make it painful to move—Arcee knew this from almost-personal experience. 

While she was distracted staring at Prowl and Jazz one more mech stepped out of the ship. He was as large as the first who came out though notably thicker, his optics dark blue--almost purple in color--and his digits were clawed. His body was mainly back with small gold decals on his heavily plated armor and white finials on his helm, his Autobot insignia, which was white, seemed to be painted over another. 

Miko, who was seated firmly on Bulkhead’s shoulder, turn to him with one of her speed interrogations. “Dude, who are they? What with the waco gay guy? Was that black man a Decepticon?”

Before Bulkhead could try to answer any of the rappid questions the once blue mech appeared by his side and did it all for him, he had mastered the human language in less than a second once he found it in the Autobot language database, and he did so with a speed that left even Miko breathless. “I-am-Courier-Blurr-he-is-Wrecker-Perceptor-he-is-Wrecker-Drift-he-is-Lieutenant-Prowl-he-is-Special-Operations-leader-Jazz-Jazz-is-unwell-in-the-processor-Drift-was-once-a-Decepticon.” Blurr pointed to each of the mechs in turn.

“Wow.” Was all the woman could manage. Arcee had a feeling the Japanese girl and Velocitronian mech would get along just fine. 

“Commander Magnus, Sir.” Prowl began, his voice tired and worn—nothing like it had been when he commed Arcee. “I request that I be allowed to take Sub-Commander Jazz to a recharge room before the debriefing.”

Ultra Magnus looked down at the lieutenant. “Request granted.” He began to say but was interrupted by Jazz latching himself onto Prowl’s side and screaming. 

“NO Prowlly!” Came the screech. “You can’t leave me behind! PLEASE don’t abandon me! I’ll DIE, I’ll die. Don’t leave me behind.” He broke down in tears, and whatever else he had to say was lost. 

Prowl instantly changed from attempting to be stiff to… well, to something that Arcee had never seen from him before. Twisting around the lieutenant clasped the weeping mech tightly to his chassis, one servo gently caressing the back of his helm. “Shh Jazzy,” He murmured, “I wasn’t gonna leave you alone, I’d never do that and you know it Jazzy.” Jazz began to stop crying and lifted his mutilated helm to look at Prowl, his sightless optics fixed on the point where the sounds came from. “Percy’s gonna stay with you. Isn’t he?” The last part was directed mainly at Perceptor, who was standing next to them, and sounded more like a demand than a request. 

“Oh, of course I am.” The larger mech softly slid his arms around Jazz, slowly lifting him off of Prowl. “We hang out together all the time. Remember? I tell you stories about-“ Jazz interrupted him.

“Ice ball Earth, ice ball Earth! Tell me story, tell me story ‘bout fire’n’ice! ” Moments ago he was weeping and now Jazz sounded like a young Polyhexalon begging for a tell from his nanny. Miko probably would have wanted to hear a Cybertronian story about her planet, but the majority of what the transformers said was in their native tongue. 

“By your leave.” Perceptor turned his mismatched cyan optics on Ultra Magnus.

“Dismissed soldier. Smokescreen,” said ‘bot snapped to attention, “show Perceptor to Jazz’s quarters then return to your duties. Bumblebee and Bulkhead, you are to return to your duties as well, take the human civilians with you. Dismissed soldiers.” He said that part in English for the benefit of the humans, the said beings left, Jack stepping to Bumblebee’s palm, Miko complaining loudly that she wasn’t a regular old civilian—another sign that she was growing out of being that girl who accidentally saw Arcee, since she didn’t say a word about wanting to stay. 

“The rest of you, are to come to the council room.”


	3. Verb Odyn

The first mech he found was Perceptor, who had gotten trapped by a falling chunk of metal and was struggling to pull himself from under it. “Wait-wait-let-me-help.” He insisted, kneeling to grab an edge and heave up. Blurr wasn’t the strongest mech out there, so it took him a few tries to raise the metal enough to let the destroyer tank crowl out. The whole time Perceptor was murmuring something about uselessness; Blurr choose not to respond.

“Let’s-find-the-others.” Blurr hurried down the tunnel, Perceptor following a little slower, dented servos sealing off a few ruptured energon lines in his side. 

The main cavern was a mess: former walls and ceiling collapsed from the blast, covering everything that had been on the floor, a few twisted pieces of lab equipment could be seen here and there--by the light streaming in through new holes in the top of the cavern--but little else. The pair spread apart to search for the others, Perceptor’s paneled optic glowing with an intense light. 

Blurr found Bulkhead first. The big green bot was off line, trapped beneath such large chunks of what had been the ceiling of the cave that it took the pair’s combined strength to free him. The Wrecker was lucky--for once--to have such thick armor, or he would have undoubtedly have been crushed in Blurr’s opinion.

“Bring him back on line.” Perceptor ordered the blue courier, turning way. “Find out the lieutenant’s spark signature.” He threw over his shoulder, planled optic flaring to life again. The tank-alt returned to where he had been searching before Blurr called him over, scanning the ruble for the unique burning of Drift’s spark. It didn’t take much longer for the red mech’s targeting system to lock onto the black mech, causing the cannon on Perceptor’s shoulder sent a request to be powered on--a slight downside of using his fighting upgrades in a non-battle setting. 

The black Wrecker was fortunate enough to avoid being completely caught under the collapsing ceiling like Bulkhead; instead, a section of wall covered in nasty looking lab equipment--Perceptor wasn’t in the mood to think back to his job before the war and name any of them--had crumbled on top of him, and as Perceptor cleared it all away he saw that one of the sharper tools had gone almost fully though Drift’s abdomen, a few pieces of shrapnel--probably from the gun the strangely familiar jet had thrown--were also lodged in his chest plating. The red Wrecker knew how much pain his compatriot would be in and thus was silently glad that somewhere along the line he had been forced into emergency stasis. 

Careful not to aggravate his wounds further, Perceptor hefted the stasis locked mech and carried him over the clear area Blurr had made around Bulkhead, who was now slowly coming back online. Gently laying Drift down, he turned his frowning face plate and single optic capable of glaring onto the green mech, now fully alert--if with a terrible pain in his central processor. 

“The lieutenant’s spark signature. Now.” Perceptor demanded, servos clenching into fists as Bulkhead took a moment to remember Arcee’s signature. Using his battle systems was really starting to shorten his tempor. When his fellow Wrecker finally recalled it all he whirled away, targeting optic once again flaring to life, searching for the commander of the ill fated venture.

Blurr administered basic first aid to the mech who he had almost come to see as a sort of a sire figure during the long time they had spent in the escape shuttle after the fall of moonbase three--even though he had been a notorious Decepticon with a nasty interpretation of justice. He also kept a cyan optic on Perceptor; the speedster had also learned a lot about the scientist turned Wrecker, despite how hard the mech had tried to keep himself disassociated with most everyone on the shuttle but Drift. Blurr wasn’t quite sure how Perceptor’s targeting system work, but he had learned through hard experience that the red mech could quickly lose control of his anger when he engaged the system in a non-combative situation.

He couldn’t find the lieutenant! Arcee’s signature seemed to have been otterly and totally blasted from the surface of Cybertron, leaving only ghostly reverberations amplified by the mettle surrounding them. In a last ditch effort, Perceptor extended all his sensor systems, along with his EM field, searching for the femme’s life sign. And there, faintly emanating from near the epicenter of the blast, was the faintest hint of a spark.

Perceptor strood over, his optic and targeting system fixed on the point where he could sense the lieutenant. Crouching, he began yanking away the chunks of metal crushing the femme. In a moment Blurr was at his side, adding his lesser strength to that of Perceptor. At the price of having the protective plating of their servos scrapped off, exposing the sensitive circuitry beneath, and a few leaking energon lines--these little injuries were completely ignored by the two mechs--they were able to uncovered the lieutenant’s battered frame. 

The blue two-wheeler had been the closest to the gray jet when he threw the incendiary device, and while the others had only really received damage from what happened after the explosion, it was obvious that Arcee had been caught in at least some of the blast. The blue paint she had acquired during her time on Earth had been completely burned from her frame, along with a goodly portion of her outer armor. Then the falling debris had done a thorough job at smashing any remaining armor and slicing through the protoform beneath. 

Energon was everywhere. On the rubble the mechs moved, their servos, the floor of the cave, Arcee’s battered and broken frame, and, as Perceptor carefully lifted the seemingly lifeless femme, all over him. Hurrying over to where Bulkhead was struggling to stay online and Drift lay motionless--still securely locked in emergency stasis--the Wrecker lay Arcee out, quickly sealing the slowly leaking vital energon lines--a testament to how much she already lost--as Blurr sped out of the cavern to com. for a ground bridge to be sent, explaining at near supersonic speeds what had happened, because energon shortage or no energon shortage no one wanted anymore Cybertronians to lose their lives.

Flashing back to Perceptor’s side, the courier helped carry the three injured ‘bots out to where the ground bridge could reach them, then, he realized something. Something important. Looking up at Perceptor as the larger mech gently set Drift, next to the two they had already hauled out, on the ground, he blurted, “we-forgot-about-Fillup!” 

The Wrecker stared blankly at him for a moment before processing exactly what the speedster said. Rolling his optic, Perceptor lowered himself until he was sitting between Arcee and Drift before responding. “So what? It’s a disposable, we can get another.” He then preceded to start rubbing drying energon from his frame. 

“How-can-you-say-that-he’s-a-living-being!? We-can’t-just-leave-him-behind-he could-still-be-ali-live-down-n-there-ere-r!” Blurr’s voice cracked at the end and he had to shut off his vocalizer to keep it from overheating and possibly melting them. So, rather than continuing his Autobotlike rant on equality and that sort of thing, the courier glared at his companion’s back. 

Once the ground bridge materialized and Autobots ran out and began lifting their injured compatriots Blurr tried to reboot his vocalizers to tell the mechs, who he didn’t recognize, about Fill-up. To his horror when he did, all that come out was a scrambled stream of unintelligible sounds. His vocalizer had glitched, he was incapable of speaking, and of course Perceptor wasn’t interested in saying a word about the missing Vehicon. So as they all hurried to the medical wing of the new Autobot base he could do nothing but continue to glare at the red mech.

Blurr didn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling about life, the fact that any Autobot would be willing to discard one in the way Perceptor had appalled him. To keep from being too riled up by Perceptor’s callousness, the youngish mech thought of something Jazz told him in one of the deranged bot’s more lucid moments. 

“We all joined for different reasons Blurr. Not all of us Autobots are as idealistic as the Prime would wish, and we have to live with that.” Blurr had to remember this, especially when it came to working with Perceptor. He had to remember that the tank alt could hardly care less for the moral thought and code, which Burr himself cared so deeply for. Perceptor preferred Cybertron’s old way of life. 

As impromptu medical assistants tended the relatively minor injuries and the Autobots’ red doctor began stabilizing Arcee and Drift with a firey passion. Blurr didn’t recognize the bot and he wondered where Ratchet was. He was sure he’d heard the crusty old CMO survived the war with Team Prime. Once the assistants finished checking him over and found nothing amiss other than the glitched vocalizer--they said the doctor would get to it as soon as he could--Blurr was told to just lie back and rest. As the courier did this, he faintly noted that the doctor was absently speaking to Drift as he worked on cleaning the gaping hole in the mech’s midriff after he had removed a surprising amount of plated armor. For some reason the red mech kept referring to him as ‘Locks.’ Blurr momentarily wondered why before he slipped of line from exhaustion he hadn’t felt.


	4. Pulchr Soma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcee chats with Chromia and Knockout.

Arcee stepped into the commissary, finding it mostly empty. The elderly Autobot Chromia sat by herself in the far corner, so, after getting her ration, Arcee decided to join her fellow femme. The sea-blue femme looked up at the lieutenant for a moment before returning her gaze to the glowing cup of energon in her clasped servos. 

“How are you this fine morning?” Arcee asked, trying to start a conversation with the old war veteran.

“Me, okay,” Chromia replied in her simple Petrohexian voice, while sighing. “I wish ‘hide was here.” She added glumly.

“Is Ironhide still in recharge?” Arcee knew that older transformers needed a longer time to reboot after a recharge cycle. Chromia herself was about Ratchet’s age, and Ironhide was even older than that.

“No,” the femme said sadly. “Doc-bot say he no leave med-bay yet.” 

“Really!” Arcee was surprised that the old mech would be laid up for so long; sure, he hadn’t looked very well when he and Chromia disembarked their little ship, but surely he wasn’t ill enough to be in medical for more than a day.

The femme nodded her helm but said nothing to this; her once strong servos weakly clutching the cube of fuel before her. Deciding to extend the ‘hand of friendship,’ Arcee gently placed her slider servo atop of the other femme’s large one. “May I visit him with you after we refuel?”  
Chromia opened and closed her mouth several times, finding herself unable to answer the much younger femme she turned her gaze away.

“What’s wrong Chromia?” Arcee was worried by the others actions.

“I…I no seen him yet.” She admitted softly, her optics flickering off for a few moments.  
The news shocked Arcee; she could see no reason for Chromia to not visit her dearly bonded sparkmate. “Why haven’t you? If Knockout said you couldn’t, I assure you that visiting Ironhide is very much aloud.” If their doctor had done something to chase her away from the med bay then Arcee was going to have a little chat with the bright red mech.

“No. The doc-bot let me visit, but he scared me.” Chromia told her sadly.

Searching her optics, Arcee asked “Chromia. What did he do?” 

“He use big words; they scare me. Doc-bot use big words with ‘hide, he made it all sound so bad. I scared for ‘hide.” The elderly Petrolhexian femme put her large servos over her face, bursts of static emitting from her vocalizer. 

Arcee knew it would not be appropriate to laugh at Chromia’s fears, but it was a struggle to keep herself composed. In the beginning she too had been intimidated by Knockout’s medical lexicon—he had made even the simplest injures sound terrifying when he talked about them. But later she had seen that he was willing to talk in laymen terms to bots, like Bulkhead, who really had no idea what it was he was saying. 

“Listen Chromia.” Arcee gently pulled the other’s servos away from her face plate. “It’s not that bad, really. In fact, why don’t you and I go and see Ironhide right now?” Pulling the slightly reluctant femme to her peds, no simple task with Chromia being of a very similar build to Ratchet, the younger guided the elder out into the hall and toward the medical bay. It was a bit of a walk, but the farther they went the less hesitant Chromia became. 

Smokescreen passed the two in the hall. Smiling broadly and bowing slightly to Chromia—showing her the respect do to one of her age—he then turned his attention to the lieutenant, saluting her. “Oh, Wheeljack checked in earlier.” He told her off handedly. 

“What’d he say?” She asked quickly. Arcee knew she shouldn’t expect any news about him, but Wheeljack was out searching for other Wreckers and he was one of them.

“Nothing much.” The rookie replied nonchalantly, not seeing the tiny flicker of disappointment in the other’s blue optics. “He did say that he was setting up a beacon to use in calling fellow Wreckers to him. He thought it would speed the process.” He then bid goodbye to the femmes and continued on his way to meet with Hotshot and Hotrod—two mechs he had known from Elite Guard boot camp—outside the base.

“Well, let’s continue!” Arcee chirped with faux happiness, her spark felt as if it was down in her peds: she really shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. They soon reached the medical wing and soon thereafter Knockout’s work room. The noise of an almost friendly conversation could be heard through the closed doors. 

“I’d prefer if Ratchet was doing this.” Came Ironhide’s scratchy voice.

“Yes, well if you want it done right let the expert work.” That was Knockout. A skeptical huff followed this. “I’ll have you know that I was one of the best reconstructive surgeons on the whole of Cybertron before the war started.” Was the doctor’s response. 

“That goes to show what kind of mechs Decepticons are when their CMO is a cosmetologist.” The old Autobot murmured.

By this point Arcee and Chromia had reached the sliding door and entered the work room. “I’ll be thanking my lucky constellation that I’m not one of them then.” Knockout almost laughed, his digits deep in Ironhide’s main support column—the closest humans’ word would be spine—while said mech lay flat on a medical booth, his expression dower. 

Knockout looked up at the two femmes; removing his servos from their task he bowed to them, then calmly returned to the elderly mech’s back. “All done.” He said happily a very short time later, resealing the back plating. When Ironhide tried to get up the red mech placed his thin servos on the other’s shoulders and firmly bushed him back down onto the booth. “However, as the Autobots’ doctor here on Cybertron I insist upon you remaining stationary for the rest of the planetary cycle.” Grumbling, Ironhide remained still. Knockout removed his servos and upon seeing the others sour expression threw them into the air and exclaimed “My word mech, there’s no need to disfigure your faceplate further by frowning! Gah, rust will start forming in the creases.” Lowering his arms, the former Decepticon added “lighten up, your most loyal bond-mate has finally taken it upon herself to come and visit you in your sad state of convalescence.” 

He stepped back and to the side, allowing his patient to see who had just entered. Chromia sent a nervous look at Knockout before she walked over to her bond-mate.

Turning to depart Arcee was confronted by the shiny red mech—they were about the same height so she was looking into his red and black optics. “Now Lieutenant Arcee, when are you going to let me do some work on you?” He asked, perfect smile on his porcelain faceplate.

“We’ve had this conversation before Knockout.” She countered. 

“But your beautiful countenance would be so much enhanced if you only allowed me to make a few modifications here and there.” While saying this last part he managed to point at all of her. “Plus, right now all of it would be pro bono.”

“We just finished one of the longest wars in Cybertronian history. I don’t think this is really the right time to talk about such frivolities.” This was where Knockout would normally bid her a fair day and let the conversation lie. 

“Let us pretend we are back in the golden age; what is it you would like changed? Even if they’re just little.” Arcee wondered why the pristine mech was in such a conversational mood today. 

“Well, I’ve never really liked the color blue.” For that fact, why was she so talkative?

“Simple and easily fixed,” Knockout mused, eyeing her up and down. “What else darling?” 

Since she had started Arcee supposed she might as well let it all out—most of it anyways. “I don’t like who small I am. It’s disconcerting to be around all these tall mechs all the time. My frame is too weak, it wasn’t made for a warrior to use.” The lieutenant stopped when she realized she was talking at a speed that could maybe possibly almost rival Blurr’s. Her chronometer pinged, warning her that she had only a few minutes to retrieve Jack and get to the work station. “Gotta run.” She apologized to Knockout, dashing from the room.

“You two love-birds can have some time alone.” He told Ironhide and Chromia as he stepped to his office. “I’ve got a file to go update.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you like Ironhide and Chromia.


	5. Sopor Oneir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash-back time.

At the end of the day Arcee had seen Jack and Miko through the space bridge and back to earth. She wished the children—not children anymore—could have stayed longer, but Miko had to return to her classes and Diana was missing her husband. Both promised to return soon and Miko swore to draw Raf with her next time even if it meant paying for every single milk carton, Arcee wasn’t sure what the spunky girl meant by that. Now she walked back through the ‘barracks’, really just a mostly stable apartment building, making her way to her room on the top floor.

Voices coming from the room on her right caught Acree’s attention. She knew it was inappropriate for her to listen in, unbecoming of a lieutenant, yet she stopped to hear the conversation.

“Just leave me alone.” Came Perceptor’s angry voice. Which, come to think about it, was really the only tone she ever heard from him.

“No.” She was surprised to hear Drift’s deep, and rather decepticony, voice reply. Though really there still weren’t very many mechs around, and she knew where all of team prime was at the moment.

“You don’t have to watch me like I’m a malfunctioning glitch or something.” The once red mech snarled.

“Magnificus made me promise that I’d protect you; you’re not exactly capable of looking after yourself right now.” 

Alright, Arcee had heard enough to know that she didn’t want to hear anymore of what the two Wreckers were talking about. She was walking away as Perceptor responded; she would have rather not heard what he said. 

“Was this before or after Overload ripped me apart?” 

She shivered while walking. Arcee knew of Overload, though she never had the actual horror of having to face the monster Decepticon in combat, Arcee had been told stories about his powers and skills - which mostly consisted of smashing through his opponents - in fighting. All these stories had been told by onlookers, since everyone the beast fought had a nasty habit of deactivating. 

Arcee deeply wished she had not decided to eavesdrop on the conversation at all. Even though he was now deactivated, Overload still was scary to think about; she had seen battlefields where he had fought and she was sure that while recharging she was going to have memory feedback of the carnage she had seen at those places.

Arcee was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t see Prowl walking down the hall ahead of her until she stepped into his back. 

“Oh, sorry Prowl.” She stammered. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I understand,” The Praxian responded softly. “We all have much that it occupying our thoughts. I should have sensed your approach and moved aside.” His door wings twitching ever so slightly while he spoke, then stilling as he concluded. 

Arcee tried to think of something to talk about with her Praxian friend - they hadn’t seen each other in so long surely there was something - but nothing came to mind. Why was she getting so flustered around him? It wasn’t like she was interested in him anymore, and he had told her in no unclear terms that he had no intention of pursuing a non-platonic relationship with her, or anyone. Beyond that, he could still be alive out there, somewhere in the universe. 

“Are you doing well?” Gah, why did she ask that? Thier planet was barely clinging to life, they had just finished a war that nearly drove them to extinction, to top it off his closest friend was suffering from psychological trauma. Given the conditions it was rather a useless inquiry.

“Given the circumstances we must deal with I feeling I am functioning adequately.” He paused, looking away from her for a moment, door wings unnaturally rigid. “I hope the same may be said for you.” With that he turned and vanished down an adjacent hallway. 

Arcee watched him go. Should she even be thinking of Prowl as her friend anymore? They hadn’t seen each other in ages and both of them had drastically changed since they had first met in the city Icon.

 

Arcee, with no small amount of apprehension, stared up at the imposing barricade locking away the buildings of Icon. She had just finished basic training and her mentor, a large pink femme who called herself Elita One, had told her that she was being deployed to a tiny hole-in-the-wall unit right in the center of nowhere. She had to make the trek alone since she was the only one being sent here and she had yet to decide if it was a punishment. The guards at the gate let her pass without question when they saw the Autobot badge. Thier identical rust colored armor and masked faces unnerved her to the point that she didn’t dare ask for directions to the Autobot base. 

Once inside Arcee’s predicament didn’t change for the better. Sure there were plenty of mechs and more than a few femmes she could ask for directions from, but they all looked so strange to her. She saw one femme with three optics conversing with a flying mech who was easily taller than Sentinel Prime, the city seemed to be filled with bizarre Cybertronians. 

And the younglings! Younglings could be seen everywhere, more of them then she had ever seen, hiding behind creators, running down alleys. Sure, the Autobots were all about individuality but this was just too strange for her; Arcee lowered her gaze and tried to be unobtrusive as she fruitlessly searched for her destination.

It was midday now and she had yet to find the base. Not only was she unwilling to talk to the civilians but Icon was way larger than she thought it was, added to that it seemed like no one here traveled in alt-mode and when she had shifted into her sleek hover dart everyone yelled at her, telling her not to do something so foolish when there were younglings around. So here she was walking through a plaza that was only somewhat busy. Arcee had just about convinced herself to ask one of the shop workers for directions when she saw something wonderful: the crystalline armor of an Enforcer. 

The Enforcer, who—blessedly—looked like any other hansom mech who wasn’t from Icon, appeared to be talking with a disgruntled green femme who had three sparklings clinging to her chassis. Arcee walked slowly toward the two, not wanting to lose them in the flow of bodies. After a moment the femme threw her servos into the air and stormed off. The Enforcer turned to leave only to find his way was blocked by Arcee’s small blue frame.

“I’m looking for the Autobot base.” She said without preamble, she really wanted to reach the unit sometime before she deactivated. 

The black and white Enforcer stared at her for a bit, his yellow optics taking in her image, processing that she didn’t look like she was from around here. “I apologize femme, but I too am looking for said Autobots without any success.” His voice was a little flat and monotonous. 

Arcee fidgeted, wishing she hadn’t just embarrassed herself so badly by assuming the mech was an Enforcer. But what else was she supposed to think, she’d never seen someone in such crystalline armor unless they were an Enforcer. “Oh, uh, sorry for assuming you would now.” She began to make her retreat after this but the mech stopped her.

“I believe it would be advantageous for us to search together; this city is not exactly welcoming of strangers.” Yeah, she’d noticed that. 

“Sound like a plan.” Arcee didn’t even know the mech, but he seemed okay and she had finished enough training to be able to protect herself if he tried anything. “By the way, I’m Arcee of the Autobot army.” She introduced herself as they walked through the street.

“My designation is Prowl, I work for the Enforcers of Praxis.” So she was right...kind of.   
As they searched for the Autobots Arcee tried to keep a conversation going, but Prowl seemed to have other ideas, mainly that of being quiet. She was able to learn that he was here because Praxis’ Enforcers wished to unite themselves with the Autobots and the closest group of them were right here. She told him she was joining the unit and she was from Iacon.

“I feel like we’re being followed.” Arcee said, suddenly stopping Prowl before he could step around a corner. 

The Enforcer grabbed her by the arm and continued around the bend, pulling her along. “We are indeed being trialled, we have been since just after we met. Try not to make it so obvious that you know.”

“How can you tell?” She asked, walking beside him. In response his door wings flicked then returned to their upright position. Arcee remembered hearing somewhere that the Praxian appendages were incredibly sensitive to pressure and vibrations. She supposed that there wasn’t too much to worry about if the Praxian was aware of it.

The city was growing dark and they hadn’t even see any Autobots. “I think it might be a good idea to find someplace to stay the night.” Arcee spoke up; she wasn’t eager to spend the night out in the open of this strange city.

Prowl surveyed the buildings they were walking among; signs for law offices and other businesses lined the street, the vast majority announcing that the building was closed. “Although finding the Autobot base would be preferable, you are right: we should find a place to recharge.” He turned down a side street which appeared to lead into more of a sector they would be looking for. Arcee felt a sudden unease wash over her as she entered the side street behind Prowl. She knew they were still being followed, but if Prowl was calm then she could be too, after all, she had just finished some rather intensive training from one of the best femme fighters out there.

A figure stepped into the side street ahead of them, the light from the street behind making him nothing but a silhouette. He wasn’t very tall, truthfully Arcee was probably just a little bit taller than him. Sparks came up from the ground as the figure spread his legs, drawing her attention downward for a moment. Where two peds would normally be, there were two bladelike pieces of metal. They were grinded to a sharp edge, with deadly looking points at the tip of each. 

“Stop where you are.” The figure ordered, even though Arcee and Prowl had already done so. “You are both in violation of rule 198.70.14 subsection X. ‘Outsiders may not be permitted to wander the streets of this city aimlessly nor loiter in any public area.’” The mech slid toward the pair, more sparks flaring up from the blades slicing across the hard metallic dirt.

“We are not aimlessly wandering!” Arcee exclaimed from behind Prowl. “We’re trying to find the Autobot base.” With a bit of force she pushed herself past Prowl and stood to confront the misterly mech. His red optics scanned up and down her frame, taking in the fact that she wore the symbol of an Autobot. “I am a member of the Autobot army.” She added proudly.

This apparently wasn’t the wisest thing for her to tell him.

His optics suddenly blazed brightly, red, yellow, and white bio-lights flaring to life on his face neck and servos. “A lier!” He almost shreeked. “An Autobot would know where their own base is!” His tone was such that Arcee was unsure if he was infuriated by this or gleeful.

“She is telling the truth.” Prowl spoke up calmly from behind, drawing the mech’s attention away from Arcee. His bio-lights faded noticeably as he looked the Enforcer up and down.

“And why should I believe your word when you could very well be her cohort?” He didn’t give Prowl time to reply before he was talking again, answering his own question. “There would be no way to tell such a thing without access to a multi city database.” Without turning his optics away from them, he called for someone they couldn’t see.

“RedInferno! Here. Now!” 

A large mech quickly came and stood at the end of the sidestreet, shoulders too wide to let him get any closer. “Yah boss?” He asked, voice deep and soft at the same time. He was obviously from Petrolhex. 

“Nevermind.” The small mech hissed in irritation. “You are both under arrest for violation of rule 198.70.14 subsection X and for lying to a Red of Icon.” He informer the Autobot and Enforcer. “Come peacefully and you won’t be harmed.” 

Arcee glanced back at Prowl. She wasn’t eager to be arrested. She wasn’t even sure this mech had the authority to do so. But he just shook his helm at her, “we will do as you say.” He told the little mech.

“Come then!” He commanded, turning and sliding past his assistant. Arcee and Prowl walked out behind him, the large mech stepping after them.


	6. Noct Somni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback ends and the story continues.
> 
> As always input is greatly appreciated--not just what you like but what you don't like as well. 
> 
> Icon (not a type-oh of Iacon, they are different cities) uses colors to denote rank in society.
> 
> Oh, and I'm raising the story to T rating for what will happen in the next few chapters.

Now that the mech was no longer silhouetted by the light Arcee could see that he was mainly red, with a few patches of white and yellow. The shape of his helm reminded her strongly of some kind of organic flying insect: maybe a wasp. It looked as though his alt mode would be very similar to her’s, but with skates on the bottom instead of magnetic field generators.

Glancing back she examined the other mech, RedInferno. He was almost all red, with a black helm and servos. He looked as though he would have some kind of ground or low altitude transporter alt mode; a glider pad or rolling tanker. The light was dimming but Arcee thought she saw some kind of emblem on his chest plate. His face was rather plain, giving him a kind of small town familiarity look that Arcee found kind of cute.

In a surprisingly short time they reached the station, which looked nothing like any station or headquarters or base that Arcee had every seen before: she should have guessed. It was a rather small building, tucked between to rundown office complexes that probably should have been condemned a long time ago. There was no sign on the building to show that it was in any way, shape, or form, connected with the city’s government. If someone asked Arcee about it she would tell them it was an abandoned housing unit awaiting a demolition team. 

The small mech palmed open the door and slid in; waiting just on the other side for the detainees and RedInferno. Arcee’s opinion of the station changed the moment she walked in.

It’s not that the building was anything amazing on the interior, the fact that it actually looked almost just like any other police or security station Arcee had been in, was what really surprised her. The walls were painted a generic gray and a large image of the Iconolee seal covered most of the wall facing her. The terminals and computing systems looked a bit more advanced than what she had ever seen, not like she saw that many of them though. 

“I’m going to need you two to sit down over here.” The large red mech behind her said, pointing over their helms toward a bench bolted to the wall a good distance away from the door and anything breakable. He sounded so friendly that Arcee found herself doing what he had said almost instantly; Prowl following at a more relaxed pace. 

Once Arcee sat down she looked back at the mech and, to her surprise, realized that the shape she had dimly seen on his chassi before was an Autobot insignia. the red on red made it a little hard to see, but it was there. Turning, Arcee looked at the other mech, wondering if he too was an Autobot, but no, the symbol he wore matched the triangular one on the wall. 

“RedJazz,” the small mech said as the video screen he stood before lit up, showing a black and white visored mech on the other side. Arcee could just make out that this mech had a red Autobot brand on his shoulder.

“I’ve told ya RedAlert, call me Jazz.” The black and white one replied, an easy grin on his faceplate.

RedAlert scowled at Jazz’s words. “I picked up a femme and a mech for the violation of rule 198.70.14.” He certainly was to the point. “The femme claims to be an Autobot.” Arcee was sure she’d never heard a voice so full of disdain before. 

Jazz thought for a moment, then, his visor lighting up brightly, exclaimed, “Yes! Her designation is Arcee, she should have been here this morning. I was wondering what was taking so long.” The mentioned femme let out a sigh of relief; the nightmare the day had been was almost over. “The mech wouldn’t happen to be a Praxian Enforcer, would he?” 

“Yes, I am.” Prowl spoke up from his seat next to Arcee.

RedAlert huffed in annoyance, reaching to end the transmission. “I shall have RedInferno take them down to you then.” He paused, and almost as an afterthought added, “RedJazz, I do not appreciate being left in the dark when it comes to what you and your Autobots will be doing in Icon. Be aware that if these occurrences continue I’ll have no choice but to report the incidents to YellowDownshift. I’m sure he would be very pleased to know about them.” Even though Arcee had know idea who YellowDownshift was, she could see a threat when it was right in front of her optics.

The video screen became dark as RedAlert turned back to face the three Cybertronians behind him. “Take them to RedJazz. I am done with your service for today.” His voice was flat, uncaring, and more than a little unnerving. As RedInferno assured the pair out of the main room, and into a passage which lead down to the Autobot base, he faced another computer screen, extended long flexible data cords from his sides, and began logging reports for the day, he also added one more note to his file on the Autobots stationed in Icon.

Since he was a fellow Autobot, Arcee felt she could talk to the large mech. “So RedInferno-”

He interrupted her, a bit of a laugh in his vocalizer. “Actually my name’s simply Inferno. RedAlert’s just kind of strict about using titles, even if he thinks they’re unearned.”

“So… what do you guys do here normally?” 

“Nothing’s normal ‘round here femme.” Inferno laughed as they entered the Autobot base, a good distance under the city.

 

Arcee shook her helm and continued on to her quarters. She really shouldn’t let herself dwell on the past like that, there was nothing to gain from doing so but sadness, and she had had enough of that.

Falling onto her booth, Arcee was soon deep in recharge. If she had been awake, Arcee would have heard the ecose and felt the vibrations of a mech walking around and around in the housing complex. She would have heard a door slide open and closed repeatedly as someone walked into a room, out, in, and back out, over and over. The walking faded away shortly before Arcee onlined the next day.


	7. Am Aesth

The command room was fuller than it had been for millennia: three Vehicon scouts stood at attention before Ultra Magnus--armor dented and dirty from travel--while lieutenants Arcee and Prowl standing behind and to the sides of the current Autobot leader, Smokescreen, Bulkhead, Blurr, Drift, and Perceptor sitting behind them--Bumblebee had left earlier that morning to check that the predacons were still remaining in their territory; some of the mechs who wanted to settle into a spot near there complained of the beast machines unruly conduct. The only mech who should have been there but wasn’t was Jazz, for obvious reasons.

Looking around the room it was sad to think that here, in this room, stood the vast majority of living Autobot soldiers: the commanding officer, two lieutenants, three Wreckers, a courier, and a rookie. Arcee couldn’t help but once again ask herself if the whole war was just a big waist, they hadn’t really accomplished anything other than the near total annihilation of their own kind. Of course, if it wasn’t for the war she never would have met him, not that there was much of a difference now though. 

“That’s why we’r̃e r̃eally sur̃e it’s one of Shockwave’s labs.” The middle Vehicon, going by the name Fillup and sporting unusual yellow decals on his dark purple chassis, finished off the report on what his brothers and he had found while scouting in what had once been the Cesium springs, now just a rather explosive field of radioactive nastiness. Throughout his report, all three Vehicons had cast multiple nervous glances over at the black--former--Decepticon. EM fields betraying their wariness and for a brief instant Acree wondered exactly who Deadlock had been. 

“This is indeed important information.” Ultra Magnus told the triad. “Thank you for being so prompt in your return to report this. You are dismissed.” They silently hurried from the room, giving Drift a wide berth.

“From what I understand,” Prowl started, “to hear that the Decepticon scientist Shockwave, the self same Shockwave who conducted the Little Alberton experiments, could very well still be functioning is… troubling.” His blue optics were focused on the datapad he had used to take notes about the report, digits running across the flickering screen. 

“And Megatron was just an annoyance.” Perceptor sarcastically spoke up from the back of the room. Prowl didn’t even bat an optic at the rude comment, though Ultra Magnus raised a brow.

“Your observation is correct.” The large blue mech said in reply to Prowl. “That is why I wish to dispatch a group to go and investigate the findings.” Arcee supposed it was a good idea; the last thing they needed was more hostile predacons. Did it really matter though? It wasn’t like there was much that could get wrecked on the planet that they themselves hadn’t already brought down. 

“Arcee.” She stood to attention.

“Yes, Commander Magnus sir?” 

“You will be leading the investigation.”

“Yes sir.”

“Shockwave is dangerous, so I don’t want any risks taken if he is there.”

Arcee nodded. “Of course sir. Who will accompany me?”

“The Wreckers and the Vehicon Fillup,” their leader paused for a moment, “and since Bumblebee is not here, take Blurr too.” Arcee wasn’t sure if she would have chosen them for her team, but the Wreckers were amazingly good at completing their missions… at least until moonbase three. 

“We will leave at once sir.” Ultra Magnus nodded at this. Arcee strode toward the door, gesturing for her team to follow, subconsciously she noted that out of all of the new arrivals Perceptor was the only one who had yet to be repainted. They quickly fell in line behind her. 

 

Ground bridges consumed a surprising amount of energon and with Cybertron barely holding to life nearly every drop the Autobots had was being used to feed their home planet. So, Arcee found herself sitting atop of Bulkhead’s alt form as they headed for the Cesium springs. She felt kind of embarrassed that her alt mode was of little use on Cybertron. Even the Vehicon had found an alt mode he was compatible with. It was kind of interesting to see what the new arrivals transformed into. Perceptor appeared to change into a destroyer tank, almost identical to that of Shockwave’s, Drift looked to be some kind of armored hovercraft, and Arcee had no idea what Blurr’s was except that it was fast--he had to keep circling back in order not to leave the rest of the group behind.

Arcee looked down at her ride. “Hey Bulkhead, do you know Drift or Perceptor?” She had noticed that the big green ‘bot hadn’t been as excited about meeting these Wreckers as he had been when Wheeljack showed up; it could have just been because those two were such close friends.

“Uh…” Bulkhead began eloquently. “Not personally, though I heard a bit about them.”

“Want to elaborate?” Arcee liked to know about the mechs--or femmes--she was working with. Besides, the trip promised to be rather dull. 

Her companion thought for a moment, not as much of an oxymoron as it sounded. “Well, uh, I think before Perceptor joined up he was some kind of scientist who worked on the O.N.E. project.” Arcee had heard of the project, most every Cybertronian had, though no one really knew what it was about. “For some reason he came and spent some time with a Wrecker group on Tien Kwan. Then he joined as a intel bot and later transferred to the Wreckers. Uhh, yeah, that’s really it ‘cee.”

“Thanks Bulkhead. What about Drift?”

“Nope. Don’t know anymore that you.” He paused. “Actually, I heard, umm, he’s friends with some spec. op. mech.”

“Do you know this mech’s name Bulk’. I knew quite a few of the spec. ops. mechs.” Arcee hoped that he did; it’d be nice to be able to have something in common between the other Autobots returning to Cybertron--other than their involvement in the war.

“Uhh, Magi? Magna? Something like that. I heard he was kind of a creepy battle mold.” 

The two wheeler searched her memories but couldn’t think of any one in Jazz’s team who had a name that sounded close to what her ride had said and she certainly didn’t remember a battle mold under her friend’s command. 

“Maybe I’ll ask him after the mission.” She murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points to who ever can guess what experiment I was referencing with Shockwave, and a cyber-hug to whoever can guess who Drift's spec. op. friend was.


	8. Mal Fla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes scrap just happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see bios for some of the characters in this universe, feel free to go and check them out at my DA account-- http://lordgrimwing.deviantart.com/gallery/57970364/Characters

Fillup informed the group that it would take two days--Cybertronian days of course--to reach the Cesium springs, maybe a little longer because, as Fillup put it, Vehicons are just slightly faster than Wreckers. Two long days of tedious travel, with little to nothing to break up the monotony of one rust pile after another and the occasional skeletal spacecraft. The Vehicon was able to keep most of the time uneventful, one interesting event did happen on the last day. 

They were about to head out in the early hours of the day and the whole group was gathered together in the darkness. “We’r̃e making good time Lieutenant. We’ll r̃each the lab by midday.” Fillup’s accent was a little strange but Arcee was able to understand him for the most part. She never heard a Vehicon with an accent, it was interesting for Fillup to be the only one with it while all his brothers spoke normally. Wheren’t Vehicons just supposed to be clones--carbon copies of each other?

“Excellent. Lead on Fillup.” The Vehicon nodded stepping back, and smack into Drift’s back. Arcee had noticed the purple mech was voiding the other former Decepticon, perhaps something to do with the way Vehicons got pushed around so much by the other members of the faction, still, she was surprised by what happened next.

Fillup scrambled back as Drift turned to face him. “So sor̃r̃y, so sor̃r̃y,” he babbled, giving quick, jerking, bows to the black mech who, in turn, was just staring at him. “Please,” the Vehicon continued, raising his servos before himself in supplication. “Please don’t kill me Lor̃d Deadlock!” With that he fell trembling to his knees, repeating his mantra of not being deactivated, begging for his life. A moment or two passed before anyone reacted, surprisingly enough it wasn’t Drift.

“You imbecile!” Perceptor, a rather large mech, stomped over to the, small, cowering mech. “He’s not Deadlock, fool! You stupid, witless, inane-” The once scarlet transformer continued to hiss insults as he pulled back a ped to kick the still prone Fillup. In most other situations Arcee might have found it a little humorous that Perceptor could dispense such disparaging aspersion so efficiently. 

“Perceptor, stop.” Drift calmly ordered, placing a slightly clawed servo on the Wrecker’s shoulder--the one without a powerful looking cannon on it. The red mech halted in his movement, blue gaze locked on the black mech’s purple one, lone visible optic ridge showing his confusion. “We have a mission to complete. Choose a different time to take out your rage and pick a target that can fight back.” 

Grumbling, Perceptor turned, storming off. The two avoided each other for the rest of the journey. Arcee had the impression that if the group was to be suddenly attacked the two Wreckers wouldn’t lift a digit to aid the other, not that either of them would probably need help.

 

“See, see? Ther̃e it is!” Fillup--who was now avidly avoiding Drift and Perceptor--said in excitement, gesturing to the entrance of what seemed to be a crumbling cave, half submerged in festering Cesium. Most Vehicons tended to get excited over finding something others had missed. “Shockwave’s lab is inside ther̃e.” 

“Remember,” Arcee cautioned as the group prepared to enter the cave, “try to avoid engaging the ‘con if he’s in there. Shockwave’s dangerous and the last thing we want is to bid farewell to a comrade. Our goal is, if there’s a lab, to destroy it. Now, let’s move out soldiers.” Arcee and Blurr went first into the dark opening, the Wreckers and Vehicon quietly following. Perceptor entered last, and because of this no one saw his rather long hesitation at the mouth to the cave. Finally, he shook his helm and followed them into the darkness.

Shockwave’s newest workspace was primitive by Cybertronian standards, but more advanced than the one he had had when he cloned Darksteel and Skylynx. A lone growth tank stood in the middle of the arching cavern, the liquid within it bobbling, a clear sign that it was soon to be used, or had just been. The lighting was dim but it was instantly evident that the crazy scientist was not in; a blue and grey jet was. 

“Surrender and you will not be harmed.” The jet whirled to face the Autobots at the sound of Arcee’s voice, yellow optics narrowing above a orange face mask. Quick as a flash, he pulled a large and nasty looking gun from subspace, leveling it at Arcee. “You’re out numbered.” The lieutenant insisted. “Don’t do something foolish.” The last thing she wanted to do after the civil war ended was take another life.

“I can do whatever the scrap I want! I don’t have to take your orders.” He shouted back, yellow optics glaring over his hideous mask, before charging up the gun and, colorful diodes blinking happily, hurling it at the Autobots. The action was so unexpected that for a moment they just stared as the jet transformed and shoot past them out of the cave with his parting words of “especially not from that frag mouthed scientist,” getting lost in the scream of his twin thrusters. The weapon landed at Arcee’s peds with a clatter, glowing ominously.

“Slag,” she murmured. The gun started to spark. “Everyone, get out!” They turned to run, Blurr flashing by them all. The explosion the gun caused was made infinitely larger when it ignited the liquid in the growth tank. 

The blue courier skidded to a stop outside the cave, panting from the sudden burst of speed after so long being stuck in a little ship. He really needed to start training again, all the sitting around did nothing for the Velocitronian’s systems. With a cry of alarm he scrambled aside as the cesium before him exploded, raining burning chunks of slag down on the light blue mech. He whirled around to see the cave mouth tremble, hunks of metal falling from the ceiling. Where were the others? He then remembered his companions weren’t as fast as he. In a flash of blue he dashed back in for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on who the jet is?
> 
> I actually have the rest of this story written up, so... do people prefer if I still just post once a week or do you want this thing to be updated as fast as possible?


	9. Arobor Carn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to... well anyway, scrap happens.

The first mech Blurr found was Perceptor, who had gotten trapped by a falling chunk of metal and was struggling to pull himself from under it. “Wait-wait-let-me-help.” He insisted, kneeling to grab an edge and heave up. Blurr wasn’t the strongest mech out there, so it took him a few tries to raise the metal enough to let the destroyer tank crowl out. The whole time Perceptor was murmuring something about uselessness; Blurr choose not to respond.

“Let’s-find-the-others.” Blurr hurried down the tunnel, Perceptor following a little slower, dented servos sealing off a few ruptured energon lines in his side. 

The main cavern was a mess: former walls and ceiling collapsed from the blast, covering everything that had been on the floor, a few twisted pieces of lab equipment could be seen here and there--by the light streaming in through new holes in the top of the cavern--but little else. The pair spread apart to search for the others, Perceptor’s paneled optic glowing with an intense light. 

Blurr found Bulkhead first. The big green bot was off line, trapped beneath such large chunks of what had been the ceiling of the cave that it took the pair’s combined strength to free him. The Wrecker was lucky--for once--to have such thick armor, or he would have undoubtedly have been crushed in Blurr’s opinion.

“Bring him back on line.” Perceptor ordered the blue courier, turning way. “Find out the lieutenant’s spark signature.” He threw over his shoulder, paneled optic flaring to life again. The tank-alt returned to where he had been searching before Blurr called him over, scanning the ruble for the unique burning of Drift’s spark. It didn’t take much longer for the red mech’s targeting system to lock onto the black mech, causing the cannon on Perceptor’s shoulder sent a request to be powered on--a slight downside of using his fighting upgrades in a non-battle setting. 

The black Wrecker was fortunate enough to avoid being completely caught under the collapsing ceiling like Bulkhead; instead, a section of wall covered in nasty looking lab equipment--Perceptor wasn’t in the mood to think back to his job before the war and name any of them--had crumbled on top of him, and as Perceptor cleared it all away he saw that one of the sharper tools had gone almost fully though Drift’s abdomen, a few pieces of shrapnel--probably from the gun the strangely familiar jet had thrown--were also lodged in his chest plating. The red Wrecker knew how much pain his compatriot would be in and thus was silently glad that somewhere along the line he had been forced into emergency stasis. 

Careful not to aggravate his wounds further, Perceptor hefted the stasis locked mech and carried him over the clear area Blurr had made around Bulkhead, who was now slowly coming back online. Gently laying Drift down, he turned his frowning face plate and single optic capable of glaring onto the green mech, now fully alert--if with a terrible pain in his central processor. 

“The lieutenant’s spark signature. Now.” Perceptor demanded, servos clenching into fists as Bulkhead took a moment to remember Arcee’s signature. Using his battle systems was really starting to shorten his tempor. When his fellow Wrecker finally recalled it all, he whirled away, targeting optic once again flaring to life, searching for the commander of the ill fated venture.

Blurr administered basic first aid to the mech who he had almost come to see as a sort of a sire figure during the long time they had spent in the escape shuttle after the fall of moonbase three--even though he had been a notorious Decepticon with a nasty interpretation of justice. He also kept a cyan optic on Perceptor; the speedster had also learned a lot about the scientist turned Wrecker, despite how hard the mech had tried to keep himself disassociated with most everyone on the shuttle but Drift. Blurr wasn’t quite sure how Perceptor’s targeting system work, but he had learned through hard experience that the red mech could quickly lose control of his anger when he engaged the system in a non-combative situation.

He couldn’t find the lieutenant! Arcee’s signature seemed to have been utterly and totally blasted from the surface of Cybertron, leaving only ghostly reverberations amplified by the mettle surrounding them. In a last ditch effort, Perceptor extended all his sensor systems, along with his EM field, searching for the femme’s life sign. And there, faintly emanating from near the epicenter of the blast, was the faintest hint of a spark.

Perceptor strode over, his optic and targeting system fixed on the point where he could sense the lieutenant. Crouching, he began yanking away the chunks of metal crushing the femme. In a moment Blurr was at his side, adding his lesser strength to that of Perceptor's. At the price of having the protective plating of their servos scrapped off, exposing the sensitive circuitry beneath, and a few leaking energon lines--these little injuries were completely ignored by the two mechs--they were able to uncovered the lieutenant’s battered frame. 

The blue two-wheeler had been the closest to the gray and blue jet when he threw the incendiary device, and while the others had only really received damage from what happened after the explosion, it was obvious that Arcee had been caught in at least some of the blast. The blue paint she had acquired during her time on Earth had been completely burned from her frame, along with a goodly portion of her outer armor. Then the falling debris had done a thorough job at smashing any remaining armor and slicing through the protoform beneath. 

Energon was everywhere. On the rubble the mechs moved, their servos, the floor of the cave, Arcee’s battered and broken frame, and, as Perceptor carefully lifted the seemingly lifeless femme, all over him. Hurrying over to where Bulkhead was struggling to stay online and Drift lay motionless--still securely locked in emergency stasis--the Wrecker lay Arcee out, quickly sealing the slowly leaking vital energon lines--a testament to how much she already lost--as Blurr sped out of the cavern to com. for a ground bridge to be sent, explaining at near supersonic speeds what had happened, because energon shortage or no energon shortage no one wanted anymore Cybertronians to lose their lives.

Flashing back to Perceptor’s side, the courier helped carry the three injured ‘bots out to where the ground bridge could reach them, then, he realized something. Something important. Looking up at Perceptor as the larger mech gently set Drift, next to the two they had already hauled out, on the ground, he blurted, “we-forgot-about-Fillup!” 

The Wrecker stared blankly at him for a moment before processing exactly what the speedster said. Rolling his optic, Perceptor lowered himself until he was sitting between Arcee and Drift before responding. “So what? It’s a disposable, we can get another.” He then preceded to start rubbing drying energon from his frame. 

“How-can-you-say-that-he’s-a-living-being!? We-can’t-just-leave-him-behind-he could-still-be-ali-live-down-n-there-ere-r!” Blurr’s voice cracked at the end and he had to shut off his vocalizer to keep it from overheating and possibly melting them. So, rather than continuing his Autobotlike rant on equality and that sort of thing, the courier glared at his companion’s back. 

Once the ground bridge materialized and Autobots ran out and began lifting their injured compatriots Blurr tried to reboot his vocalizers to tell the mechs, who he didn’t recognize, about Fill-up. To his horror when he did, all that come out was a scrambled stream of unintelligible sounds. His vocalizer had glitched, he was incapable of speaking, and of course Perceptor wasn’t interested in saying a word about the missing Vehicon. So as they all hurried to the medical wing of the new Autobot base he could do nothing but continue to glare at the red mech.

Blurr didn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling about life, the fact that any Autobot would be willing to discard one in the way Perceptor had appalled him. To keep from being too riled up by Perceptor’s callousness, the youngish mech thought of something Jazz told him in one of the deranged bot’s more lucid moments. 

“We all joined for different reasons Blurr. Not all of us Autobots are as idealistic as the Prime would wish, and we have to live with that.” Blurr had to remember this, especially when it came to working with Perceptor. He had to remember that the tank alt could hardly care less for the moral thought and code, which Burr himself cared so deeply for. Perceptor preferred Cybertron’s old way of life. 

As impromptu medical assistants tended the relatively minor injuries and the Autobots’ red doctor began stabilizing Arcee and Drift with a firey passion. Blurr didn’t recognize the bot and he wondered where Ratchet was. He was sure he’d heard the crusty old CMO survived the war with Team Prime. Once the assistants finished checking him over and found nothing amiss other than the glitched vocalizer--they said the doctor would get to it as soon as he could--Blurr was told to just lie back and rest. As the courier did this, he faintly noted that the doctor was absently speaking to Drift as he worked on cleaning the gaping hole in the mech’s midriff after he had removed a surprising amount of plated armor. For some reason the red mech kept referring to him as ‘Locks.’ Blurr momentarily wondered why before he slipped of line from exhaustion he hadn’t felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this part wasn't too gory for anyone,  
> Have a great Ester Sunday.


	10. Itiner Viv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Who ever said that space travel was an adventure seriously needed their thought processor examined, or else said individual’s life had been nothing more than watching a crystal grow. The only thing worse than being stuck in a little spaceship--at least in Springer’s opinion--was being trapped with Sandstorm, especially with no Devacon to converse with. 

Devacon, the odd blue neutral risked his very own spark for everyone else’s on Itineroec when they had only first met. The small spacecraft had was being pursued by a vengeful team of Decepticons who were set on ripping them plating from frame before blowing them to bits. Out of nowhere Springer and his companions received a communication from a cloaked ship, the captain of that ship, Devacon, instructed them on evasive maneuvers while he un cloaked and engaged the Decepticons. As it became evident that the stealth ship was ill matched against the battleship, the blue mech seemed to randomly ask if they were Autobots. At Springer’s confirmation of the question Devacon exclaimed that he wouldn’t let anybot be caught by their enemies to day then crashed his ship at almost light speed into the Decepticons. Both spacecraft seemed to disintegrate into debris.

Although there was little chance of their savoir even being in findable pieces after such an explosion Springer insisted that they had to return and know for sure. To everyone’s surprise, even his own, Devacon was still alive--though it took some time for his auto repair systems to bring him back to full activity. During the neutral’s convalescence Springer spent long hour conversing with him and found, to his surprise, that the drifter was incredibly intelligent. 

He missed those chats.

The very large green mech sat in the cockpit of the Itineroec, trying his best to ignore the too laude sound of Sandstorm’s voice as he told their two companion a story he’d probably repeated ten times by now. 

Springer leaned over, placing his helm between his knees, trying desperately to forget that they were heading back to Cybertron. Every moment they got closer his spark felt more and more weighed down with worry. Sure, the beacon said the Autobots won and the war was over, but at what cost Cybertron was most assuredly a dead husk, no longer a planet. Perhaps Devacon had the right idea when he refused to return with them; though, Springer had a feeling that the blue neutral would have demanded that he be dropped off at a way station no matter the condition of their home planet.

“Ar̃e jooh vell?” Springer jerked up at the query.

“What?” 

“Ar̃e jooh ill?” The red and black mech kneeling before him repeated, red optics searching over his warn frame.

“No… no I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but Springer thought it best to keep his problems personal. His unexpected visitor settled himself in the only other seat in Itineroec’s cockpit, keeping his gaze locked with the triple changer’s. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Springer was glad that someone interrupted his solitude, even if it was in the form of one of the two Kaonites who owned the small spacecraft. 

“Jou happy be going home, yah?” The red and black gladiator leaned back, splaying his clawed digits over his legs, red optics intent. 

“Sure Sideswipe.” Springer murmured, regretting his silent wish for company. Rolling his broad shoulders and turning to face the control console, the large triple changer glanced over the information displayed across the screen, trying to hide his worry from Sideswipe. After all, the discomfort in his spark probably meant nothing, he hadn’t felt anything meaningful for the longest time. 

 

As Arcee came back online she braced herself to feel pain. The exploding weapon must have destroyed most of her even with Fillup having thrown himself on it. At the thought of the Vehicon Arcee’s slow progress to full awareness halted. She hadn’t known the ex-con long--a matter of days was all--yet he’d been so willing to sacrifice himself for her and the femme was sure it wasn’t just because she was his lieutenant. 

Arcee wanted to cry for Fillup’s death, but to do that she’d have to online and now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to confront what was undoubtedly a scene of destruction. Her first real mission since returning home and she’d most likely got everyone in her little team scrapped. Well, maybe not Blurr, but still, what a failure. The only way she felt she could possibly do some form of penance for what happened would be by onlining and suffering through whatever pain was awaiting her. 

She opened her optics.

What the scrap? She stared up at a light tan ceiling. Where was she? More importantly, who was the white mech leaning over her? A quick lance of pain shot through her neck, causing self-preservation coding to kick in, Arcee tried to scramble across the smooth surface she was lying on and away from the stranger. The attempt was short lived, her limbs giving only a spasmodic quake. However she did succeed in getting the mech to back off a little, moving out of her limited line of site long enough for her venting to slow, even if he did return within moments with some device that looked suspiciously like one of Knockout’s hand-held spark monitors.

“Lieutenant Arcee.” Having calmed down marginally, the before mentioned femme noticed, with some confusion, that the white and red mech looked remarkably like Drift. Not in size, sure, though his helm and faceplate were shockingly familiar. Arcee snapped back to the present as the mech laid a servo on her shoulder. “You are in the medical bay at Autobot headquarters. CMO Knockout will be here soon to cheek on how you are healing. For now you are under orders to remain still and quiet.”

Arcee nodded her heavy helm minutely. He even sounded like a less Decepticony Drift. For a second she wanted to ask about the rest of her team, but the sedative that had been injected through the main energon line in her neck came into full effect and she soon fell back into a light stasis.

The only other occupant of the medical bay looked down at the readout from the spark monitor he held. Knockout taught him enough to tell when Arcee’s spark broke from its normal slow pattern, then told him to call him instantly if there was any change. 

“How ever fast you’re going Doc, get here faster.” The former Decepticon told his fellow turncoat over the comm line.

“Already here Locks.” The red mech said, slipping through the previously closed doors the moment the gap between them was wide enough. “Step aside and let an expert look.”


	11. Neos Soma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing suggestions are always welcome.

“What’s been bothering you.” Sandstorm asked Springer as the slightly shorter green mech stepped into the small recharge room the four Cybertronians and been sharing since the Kaonnite gladiators picked up the two triple changers from a prison ship. “You haven’t been yourself since, well, since we dropped Devecon off.” He gestured for the younger Cybertronian to take a seat next to him. Wrapping a yellow and orange arm around the green shoulders, he pulled Springer closer. “What’s up bro?”

“I don’t think you’ll understand.” As good as his brother’s intentions always were, and as empathetic as he could often be, Springer doubted Sandstorm’s ability to help. 

“It’s about her, isn’t it?” Sandstorm’s voice was hushed, faintly reminding Springer of long before the war, before Sandstorm left home. “You can talk to me. You know that.” 

The green mech didn’t reply, he merely lowered his helm, staring at the overly polished floor.   
“Or…” The single word drug out as Sandstorm’s grip tightened around Springer.

The Wrecker’s helm shot up. He knew that tone of voice, remembered it from when he was a youngling. He tried to scramble off the berth, but his older brother’s arm clamped firmly around his thick neck cabling. Sandstorm preceded to place Springer in a helm-lock with his right arm, his left fist knuckling hard against the ticklish spot between his helm crest and right helm ridge. The younger triple changer struggled to free himself from the vise like grip, slamming his elbow repeatedly into the side of his attacker’s broad chassis; to little avail. He silently cursed Sandstorm for having such thick plating. Though truth be told Springer’s was just as think, and said thickness saved their hides way more than once.

“Esses.” Springer choked out his brother’s nickname, servos clenching around the yellow forearm encircling his neck. “Can’t vent.” He gasped.

Sandstorm may not’ve been a Wrecker, but he still knew when to use force and how much to use. He quickly let the gasping mech go. “Whoops, forgot Cybertron’s not so big on venting panels.” He patted Springer lightly on the back. “They’re all the rage on Paradon.” To illustrate his point he raised the panels along his sides, revealing the grates that allowed for cooling. “Was.” Sandstorm’s cheery mood faltered as he thought about the cyber-organic planet he’d called home after leaving Cybertron. 

Giving his black helm a little shake, Sandstorm’s smile returned, maybe a little forced around the edges. “But we’re not talkin’ about that. We’re talking about your femme.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to really talk about.” Springer insisted, rubbing gingerly at the abraded protoform of his neck. “The possibility she’s still alive-” 

“Don’t you dare finish that.” A large black servo grabbed a hold of Springer’s high shoulder plating. “You don’t know she’s gone!” The one-time Paradonian exclaimed, orange hued optics burning into his brother’s harlequin green. “She’s alive ‘til you know differently! She’s alive ‘til your spark bond breaks and you feel that black emptiness. Until then, she’s alive!” Sandstorm leaned in, slight nasal ridge bumping against his little brother’s. “‘Cee’s out there and you’re going to find her and you two’ll be happy together with lots of little creations.”

Springer bumped his helm against his beloved brother’s. “Alright.” Maybe Sandstorm truly did understand how he felt.

 

“What did you do to me?” Arcee stared at her strange reflection on Knockout’s highly polished chassis. Of course his curves distorted her image, but she knew that this was totally not right.

“Well,” the suddenly much shorter reconstructive surgeon said smugly, “other than the obvious part about saving your protoform, I upgraded the ball actuators in your-” 

Arcee raised an unusually colored servo, placing a white tipped digit against the doctor’s pale lip plates. “Short run down please.” Softly rounded optic ridges lowering to a glare. 

“Yes, ahem, the short and the long of it is… You got a complete upgrade--pro bono of course.” Knockout’s excitement was almost testable. He hadn’t the chance to do what he loved since the war got going. Recreating damaged soldiers or upgrading mechs for battle was just not the same as taking something ordinary and turning it into something extraordinary. That was what he had lived for for almost as long as he could remember, and having the chance to do it again was amazingly rejuvenating.

“You-you…” Arcee was at a lost for words. 

“Sadly,” the former Decepticon continued, oblivious to Arcee’s shock, “All that was on servo was a few unmissable Vehicons and that scrap metal Chromia brought in: inferior materials. It will do for now.” 

“What?!” Round light blue optics in a slightly pink face plate widened. “You disassembled Vehicons to build me?” Her circular helm met hard with an upraised servo. 

Knockout pulled a face, turning he pulled a tray of neatly sorted washers from one of his large cabinets. “Don’t be so morbid my dear.” Rolling his startling red optics he held the tray out for the Iaconian to examine. “I’m not the morbid one. I used spare parts.”

“Oh.” Arcee considered herself duly reprimanded and returned to contemplating her warped reflection. 

It wasn’t long before the surgeon slammed his narrow servos down on his work table and turned a peeved glare onto the femme. “Do you mind not staring into my plating for the rest of the day! It’s not like I don't have a mirror or anything like that.  
“Heh heh.” Arcee laughed breathily. “That would be nice.” She followed the now shorter red mech to his office. Inside, unsurprisingly, was a full body mirror. 

“Holy sire of… Who am I!” A complete stranger stared back at her. The femme in the mirror was tall and strongly built, with practical yet beautifully crafted armor. 

“You’re Arcee 2.0 obviously.” Knockout nonchalantly sat on the edge of his desk, shining his tallins on a chamois.

“Why do I look like Elita One?” Sure she’d told him she admired the leader of the femme special forces--Jazz and Elita used to argue good naturedly about whether or not special forces and special operations was the same thing and who the actual leader was--but she was almost sure she’d never told him she wanted to look like her idol.

“What can I say… Primus knows how to design a kick-aft femme.” The doctor set the chamois aside, giving up his cleaning to walk a slow circle around Arcee. 

“Stop that.” She snapped, her helm was starting to buzz from everything that was happening. “I think I need to go.” Turning, she strode quickly out of the med bay, heading for her quarters. Knockout’s final words following her all the way there.

“Your medical records didn't say anything about a bondmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I never thought about what it must be like for Sandstorm to have lost his planet. Now I have. *crying*
> 
> Anyone else feel sad for him?
> 
> Poor Paradon *sob*


	12. Chrys Dino

“What is the first thing you’re going to do when we get back to Cybertron?” Sunstreaker looked up from his slouched seat on the berth next to his recharging brother’s supine frame. Sandstorm leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his broad chestplate, weight supported on a single armored leg.

“Vell, Sidesvipe und ee vill gooh back to Kaon. Vhy?” He straightened up as the larger mech settled himself on the floor next to the golden Kaonnite’s legs. 

“I’m just not sure how it’s going to be with all us going our separate ways after so long together. I mean, I haven’t even set ped on Cybertron since before the war.” The triple changer slowly traced the fanged insignia welded to his folded wings, reminding himself of his days on Paradon, a former Cybertronian colony. 

“Anyzing coold happon. Kaon may very vell bay goon.” He lazily patted Sandstorm’s bowed helm, golden digits gleaming against plain black paint.

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound like that was such a good thing. 

“Jooh r̃est noe, I vatch vith jooh br̃other̃.” The golden mech slid off his berth, striding slowly to the cockpit, letting his frame gleam in the light before disappearing beyond the door and making the very short walk to Itineroec’s cockpit.

Springer glanced up from his spot on the pilot’s chair as Sunstreaker walked in. The Kaonnite stopped before him, golden optics alight with intentions that Springer couldn’t decipher. 

“Jooh know da ship is self guided?” The golden mech folded his arms, customary grimis marring his glitter faceplate. “Jooh no need bay in her̃e.” 

“I like it in here.” Springer countered, glancing momentarily at the gladiator. He wasn’t habitually so standoffish, but his spark was throbbing with pent up emotions and he just wanted to be left alone for a while, or as alone as he could get in the little ship. As Sunstreaker continued to scowl at him, the large mech turn the pilot's seat fully face him. “Why are you still here?” He wasn’t amused.

“Is my ship, jah? Ee own it. Ee go ver̃ever̃, no?” He took an aggressive stance: peds planted, legs spread, servos slightly fisted. “Jooh have pr̃oblem vith zat?” 

Springer didn’t answer. He just desperately wanted to be left alone for a while, to wallow in his spark pain in solitude. Leaning back in his chair and lifting large green peds up onto the edge of the console, he tried to ignore Sunstreaker’s loud venting.

Why was he feeling this way? His spark hadn’t hurt for so long, so why was it twinging now? Springer rubbed gently at a seen in his chestplate, trying to lessen the painful pressure from within his spark chamber. Why couldn’t others just understand that he wanted to be left alone; his life was his life and he didn’t need anyone else prying into it. 

Some time later Sunstreaker returned to his twin and friend. Before letting the door slide shut, he left one last remark with Springer. “Ee go back to Sidevipe. Spar̃kbonds no like bay separ̃ated for̃ long time.”

 

“It’s not any of Knockout’s business if I have a sparkmate or not.” Arcee repeated as she stormed out of the medical wing and headed for her quarters. Of course she knew this wasn’t true; the ex-Decepticon was currently their only medical specialist and he should be aware of that kind of thing. But knowing this didn’t change her dislike of it, after all, her personal life should remain personal. That was something she’d always agree with Springer about.

Passing by the commissary, Arcee could almost feel the head turning to watch the large pink femme storm by. She almost wished that one of the younger mechs within would make some comment about her appearance--whether or not it was a compliment--so she could chew someone out. No one did. Grumbling she hurried on.

“Arcee!” The lieutenant whirled around, ready to spit fire at whoever called her. “Me talk with you.” The elderly blue femme--Chromia if Arcee recalled correctly--hurried up to her. The two Autobots now stood much closer in height, with Arcee standing at about the other’s chin guard. Arcee had the sudden thought that she was now probably taller than Bumblebee; it certainly would be odd not having to look up at everyone anymore.

“What?” Chromia hesitated at the sharp word.

“I… want speak with you.” She repeated.

“Well then, start talking because I haven’t got all day.” The younger crossed her arms scowling at the older. 

“I want thank you, make me go see ‘hide in med-bay.” She went to continue but was abruptly interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah. If that’s all I’m just going to leave now.” Arcee twisted to leave. 

“No. Wait.” Chromia reached out, grabbing Arcee’s servo and pulling her back around. “You talk with me when I down, now I talk with you when you down.”

“What are you talking about?” She was genuinely confused though her impatience was clear. “I don’t need to talk about anything with you. I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s wrong at all It’s not like I just woke from medical stasis or anything like that, but I really want to go and recharge. So if you don’t mind…” She jerked her servo out of Chromia’s grip. “I’m going to my quarters.” Turning on her large and sturdy heels she marched away.

In the housing sector she took the lift up to the top floor and nearly stepped right into the strange white and red mech from when she first awoke. a quick back peddling on his part prevented this.

“Sorry, I should had been more careful.” She said it automatically.

“No harm done Lieutenant.” Why was everything about this mech reminiscent of Drift, who--as far as she knew--was crushed under the collapsing cavern. Arcee couldn’t stand it; was everything destined to make zero amount of sense today!?

“I’ve had it!” Arcee finally snapped as the white and red mech attempted to step around her. Whipping about she latched firmly onto his arm, preventing entrance into the lift. “Why do you look so much like Drift?! What happened to my mechs?!” 

Laying a strong servo over her’s the mech stepped back from the lift. “ Please relax Lieutenant. I assume from your actions you have yet to read the report Lieutenant Prowl compiled for you. I do not feel it is my place to inform you of the contents, though I will gladly escort you to Prowl’s office.”

This was not the kind of answer the confused, angry, and only slightly frightened femme was looking. “I don’t want a briefing, I don’t want to talk with Prowl. I just want to know, who the frack are you?!”

He looked her straight in the optics, dark blue into light, and answered. “I am Drift.”

Arcee released his forearm as though burned. How? Drift was dead, she was sure of it. She herself had barely survived. Then why did this mech insist on being the Wrecker? She couldn’t stand it any more, the the confusion. Arcee fled to her quarters.


	13. Deuter Fin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, this is the second to last chapter. It's short. Enjoy.
> 
> Feed back is always loved.

Standing in her quarters, venting deep and heavy, Arcee served the conditions of her quarters. Nothing had changed since she’s last been in, filing a report before heading to the scouts’ report: heating sheet spread neatly over her berth, stack of personal data pads arranged neatly on her rickety desk next to rows of reports. Sitting down on her berth, Arcee gently wrapped the sheet around her comely shoulders, realizing she no longer needed the little heater. Her upgraded form could conserve enough heat during recharge as to make her blanket, her bonding gift from Springer, a needless redundancy. 

Lying back, tears slowly streamed down the pink femme’s silver cheeks. She didn’t want this; she wanted her own body back, the one she’d learn to transform in, the one that carried her through the civil war, the one Springer could lift her with a single servo and carry her safely around on his shoulder in. She didn’t want to lose the last things that connected her to the mech she bonded with. She may have entertained the thought every-so-often, but she never actually--deep down in her spark--wanted her fantasy to come true. 

Hours later, a tapping on her door roused the unhappy femme and Chromia stepped in. Without adieu the elderly Petrohexian lowered her heavily armored frame down next the Arcee.

“I suppose that you still want to talk.” She still didn’t want to.

“No.” 

“Then what?” Arcee began to scratch at the tear streaks on her faceplate, her spark throbbing slightly.

“Just sit.” Chromia’s words were soft and reminded Arcee of her own long deceased carrier. The thought didn’t help her feel any better since now she missed Springer and Nickel. Curling up against the thick blue side, tears quietly returned to her optics as the older femme embraced her.

“I miss them.” Arcee hiccuped. “Why’d they have to die while mechs like Soundwave and Shockwave live?” Chromia didn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer to the question she’d asked Ironhide many times. Life wasn’t always nice and there wasn’t anything anybot could really do about it other than grin and bare it. She’d learned just how hard doing that could get after Petrohex burned and she and Ironhide joined the Autobots.

Silence infolded the two still bodies.

“What you say to them if they here?” Chromia eventually asked the tired femme slumped against her.

“Wha’?” Arcee’s voice box was sore from all the crying she’d done.

“Bots you miss. What you tell them?”

Arcee thought for a moment. “I don’t know.” Her next words denied this. “I’d tell ‘Raj not to be so foolhardy and sire to get along better with carrier and carrier not to be mad at ‘Raj and me for hating the cast system. I’d tell them all how much I love them.” Arcee gulped down a breath before continuing. “I’d… I’d tell Springer he should have listened to me and left the Wreckers and stayed away from moon base three and not have gotten himself killed in action and-and…” She couldn’t go on.

Chromia pulled her closer. “What they tell you?”

Arcee froze. What would her brother and parents tell her? What would Springer? She knew what they would all say to her: “buck up little femme. I don’t want to see another tear roll down those cheeks.” The pink femme sat up, straightening her new armor plating. 

“This talk’s been really good Chromia. I have lots of stuff to get done though, so if you don’t mind…” She stood and helped the elderly femme out the sliding door. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” And the Petrohexian made her slow journey back to her quarters on the first floor of the housing unit.

The first thing Arcee had to get done was reading through Prowl’s report on what had happened after the ill-fated mission she led. Sitting down at her desk proved to not be much of an option with her new frame so she instead began going through the old report files that had stacked up while listening to Prowl’s description.

“Lieutenant Arcee. Because of your drawn out stay in the med bay Commander Magnus considers it proper that I should create this briefing for when you online again.” Arcee knew Prowl well enough to recognize the underlying tone of scepticism lacing his rather flat voice. She was almost offended that he would doubt both Knockout’s skill and her own knack for survival. Almost.

“Your unit survived the explosion at Shockwave’s lab, the only casualty was the Vehicon scout Fillup. Wrecker Drift was severely injured when the cave collapsed and in fixing him medical officer Knockout removed his plated armor. Drift is yet to be allowed to reattach the plating and currently appears in this form.” The white and red mech from the med bay and lift appeared briefly over Arcee’s vision before the recording continued. She probably need to apologize for her hostility earlier. “Beyond with no one in your unit received notable injures.” That was good to hear. 

“Wheeljack has reported in twice. Most recently to alert us that Itineroec, a small Kaonite craft, is on its way to Cybertron with Wrecker Springer, Paradonian Commander Sandstorm, and two Kaonites claiming neutrality.” Arcee’s optics widened. Springer.


	14. Nostos

Arcee’s spark tingled, she hadn’t felt this way since… well, since she’d last been with her bond mate. Cybertron’s sun shone high in the heavens, bathing the welcoming party in warm rays of light as they waited anxiously for Itineroec to appear. Arcee glanced around at her companions: Prowl stood to her right, back struts ridged as always, though the slight swaying of his wings gave away his relaxation; Drift waited on her left, his red and white armor gleaming, Arcee still found it hard to believe that this average sized mech was the same heavily armored ex-Decepticon she’d met almost a year ago (had she really be in medical stasis for that long? To her it felt like only a few months had passed), but then, who was she to be surprised by radical changes; ahead of them all stood Ultra Magnus, leader of the Autobots, calmly awaiting the return of one of his best Wreckers and the Paradonian commander.

The pink femme looked down at her peds. Sandstorm, leader of the former Cybertronian colony on Paradon. She’d never actually met Springer’s older brother, or any of his family for that matter. Sure, she’d seen the yellow triple changer in holo-meetings: when he allied Paradon with the Autobots, when The Prime requested the Paradonian army, little as it was, deploy to defend moon base three, and when the report was received of Paradon being destroyed by the Deceoticons. None of those meetings gave her much of an idea of who the large mech really was. It was a time of war after all.

For that matter, how well did she know Springer? They’d met in a time of war, fallen madly in love, and bonded less than a month later. She’d never asked about his family and her’s were a extinguished by then. What would her bond be like in a time of peace? What would he be like after so long apart? It wasn’t like she hadn’t struggled on the occasion during their long separation; she’d changed in more than just physical ways. 

Prowl gently nudged her side. “Here they come.” 

Arcee looked up into the gray sky, spying the small ship steadily approaching the landing zone. The descent slowed the closer the black ship got until finally, with a soft hiss, it alighted dead in the center of the landing pad. What a difference to the last arrival she’d witnessed. 

Arcee waited with held breath as Itineroec’s slightly banged up door lowered into an exit ramp. A large red and black mech appeared, he had to only be a little shorter than Megatron and his intricate armor, red optics, and slightly serrated denta gave him away as a Kaonite. The mech surveyed the small group before him, servos twitching slightly toward a pair of rods crossed across his back. Arcee was also tempted to extend her new arm blades; she’d never met a Kaonite who didn’t side with the Decepticons.

“Shift some aft Sideswipe!”

The Kaonite, Sideswipe, hurried down the ramp as another mech stepped out. Sandstorm clomped down the ramp, large wings unfurling for the first time in a long while. Arcee didn’t remember him being quite so tall; Sandstorm could very easily look down on Megatron, and even in her new form the yellow mech would be able to pick her up in one servo without any trouble. Orange optics surveyed the small gathering before the Paradonian stepped down the walkway and joined his companion. 

A flash of light drew Arcee’s gaze away from her brother-by-bond. The mech who now appeared looked much like Sideswipe in frame type, though his helm had two frills instead of horns and his coloring was radically different. The second Kaonite glittered like gold. Arcee was shocked by his golden armor, optics, faceplate, and everything. The shimmering mech raised a servo to shade his optics from the light, scowling as he made his way over to stand by the other Kaonite--those two had to be brothers.

Arcee’s spark clinched as her gaze returned to see the last mech disembarking. His green optics scanned around, searching. Springer’s shoulders slouched, he lowered his helm and began to trudge over to the three other mechs from the ship. He looked for her! Acree’s spark flared; Springer raised his helm, confused as his spark reached out, trying to find it’s mate. Without a thought, the pink femme dashed forward, throwing her arms around her bond mate’s waist--even with her upgrade that was as high as she could reach.

For a happy moment, her spark surged with the joy of being so close to it’s other half after so long separated. They were together again, everything would be okay, they could get through anything together. Familiar servos landed on her rounded shoulders, grip firm and gentle, reminding her of days look past. With a sudden force, Arcee was pushed away, held at arms distance.

“Femme,” there was no recognition in the green Kalisian’s optics. “Please, I’m bonded.” He took a step back, the distance between their frames grew and Arcee’s spark reached out for Springer, but met only cold air. 

“Springer, it’s me.” Couldn’t he feel they way their sparks called to each other?

“Commander Magnus, sir.” Springer stood to attention as the current leader of the Autobots strode up to him, keeping a weary optic on the distrot femme before him.

“Perhaps,” Ultra Magnus could be imposing even while looking up. “We should return to Headquarters before discussing any matter further.”

 

Springer stared across the conference room at the pink and white femme who threw herself at him earlier. How could this be his little Arcee? No surgeon was that good. The triple changer looked away for a moment. But, if that was true, why was his spark reaching out to her’s? She was looking back at him now, light blue optics asking--begging--for him to accept that she was Arcee.

Arcee tried not to stare, she really did. But it was just so hard to keep her optics off her mate. If only he would just believe who she really was. They could work through what other problems they might have as long as they loved each other. She wanted so much to stand up and slap some sense into her mech, or at least kiss some sense into him. Maybe she would once Magnus was done with the meeting, it would be rude to interrupt after all.

“Bro.” Sandstorm whispered in Springer’s audio. “When you’re done mentally un-armoring that femme, I’d actually like to do it.”

Springer’s EM field flared. “That’s my bond mate you’re talking about.” He hissed back.

Sandstorm flashed his denta. “Oh, ‘cause by the way you’re acting I’d never have guessed. You’ve hardly even spoken to her.” He pointed slightly to the Praxian sitting next to Arcee. “And unless you talk to her soon, I do believe that mech’s going to talk to her. If you know what I mean.” He didn’t respond to Springer’s annoyed huff.

So maybe he was having trouble accepting this pink femme as Arcee, but if he was her bond mate then he was her bond mate and they could work things out.

 

If kissing like it was the end of the universe was included in ‘making things work,’ then things were going really well, if not, then things were going great. Springer held Arcee securely against his chassis and Arcee’s grip on his chest armor was like a vice.

“I love you.” Arcee murmured against his lips.

“I love you more.” Springer lifted her higher.

Sandstorm raised an optic ridge at the sight of his brother and sister-by-bond locked in each other’s embrace. Grinning maliciously, he dashed forward and wrapped them both in a tight hug, placing his grey face plate right next to theirs. 

“What?” He gripped. “No hugs and kisses for the long lost brother-by-bond?” He placed a silly kiss right against Arcee’s cheek before letting the two go.

“Sandstorm.” Springer growled.

“Yikes!” Sandstorm stepped back. “Well, catch you two later, I need to go find myself two amazing Kaonites to chat with.” He dashed off, wings folded down to prevent them from banging against the walls. 

“Mechs.” Arcee rolled her optics.

“Femmes.” Springer pulled her back into a soft kiss.

 

Bumblebee sat in the communications room, idly sketching in a data pad. As boring as communication duty was, they had to be ready just in case a ship commed in. Not that many did, most of the returning Cybertronians just wished to avoid the Autobot headquarters and landed outside of their scanning range, it really made for a paperwork nightmare, trying to figure out who was back and who wasn’t--which was most everyone. 

“Autobot Command do you read?” A femme’s voice suddenly crackled from the comm system.

Bumblebee hurriedly slipped the head set on. “This is Autobot Command. Please identify yourself.”

“Good to know I’m talking with a friend. This is Elita One speaking. Me, a few civilian, and about ten other femmes from special forces will be reaching home soon.”

Bumblebee’s mouth fell open. Elita One!? 

Moments after Elita One ended the comm, Bumblebee was running down the halls, eager to tell everyone he met exactly who was coming back to Cybertron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a rough translation of all of the chapter titles:  
> 1\. Ardu Arco -- The Difficult Music  
> 2\. Asper Hum -- Rough Ground  
> 3\. Verb Odyn -- Words of Pain   
> 4\. Pulchr Soma -- Beautiful Body  
> 5\. Sopor Oneir -- Dreams in Deep Sleep   
> 6\. Noct Somni -- Night Dreams  
> 7\. Am Aesth -- Without Feelings  
> 8\. Mal Fla -- A Bad Blow  
> 9\. Arobor Carn -- The Weakness of Flesh  
> 10\. Itiner Viv -- A Journey of Life  
> 11\. Neos Soma -- A New Body   
> 12\. Chrys Dino -- Terrifying Gold  
> 13\. Deuter Fin -- The Second to the End  
> 14\. Nostos -- Homecoming or, the return home after a long journey 
> 
> Sunstreaker and Sideswipes ship Itineroec -- House of Journeys 
> 
> I will be working on the next installment, Peripeteia, soon; however, I will not start to post parts of it until most of it is written (I don't want to feel rushed to get a part done just to meet a dead-line). So, until then you'll have to be content with a few short stories (maybe) in this universe and character bios (found on my DA page--- http://lordgrimwing.deviantart.com/gallery/56949514/Neos-Mnestis).
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who read this while chapter. You people are awesome. :D :D :D
> 
> I'm out. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.S.  
> If Sandstorm seems a little odd to you that is good, you will learn the reason why later in Neos Mnestis.


End file.
